


Don't You Forget About Me

by Arcaya



Series: Billy + Steve [2]
Category: Black Mirror, Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e04 San Junipero, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Harringrove, Heartache, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Terminal Illnesses, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 09:09:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13073703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcaya/pseuds/Arcaya
Summary: After going their separate ways, Billy and Steve meet again in 1987, within San Junipero.





	Don't You Forget About Me

**Author's Note:**

> So, if you have not seen the San Junipero episode of Black Mirror, I recommend a watch, although it's not necessary to understand the concept of this story. I hope you all enjoy, and always, your comments and kudos mean so much to me so please let me know your thoughts on this story! Love to all of you who follow and support my writing. =]

‘Kids in America’ is blaring out of from the doorways of the Tucker’s club entrance, and Steve can already feel the vibration of the music humming in his chest as he approaches the doors. The doorman lifts the red rope and Steve steps inside. The hot air hits him, and the booming music guides him along with a pleasantly deafening rhythm. Arcade games litter the front half of the club, their sound effects mingling with the music, and Steve crosses through them until he reaches the bar.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asks.

Steve orders a bourbon and turns around on his bar stool to face the packed dance floor. His eyes settle upon two women in the centre of the dance floor. One of the pair is a slim, dark skinned woman with long curly dark hair, her arms draped over the shoulders of a slightly taller, pale redhead baring a decidedly strong resemblance to Barb Holland. They’re smiling, faces inches apart. The curly haired woman leans in and kisses doppelgänger Barb on the lips, their hands entwined. And Steve is at once hit with a pang of longing as he watches them, sipping his drink and beginning to regret his decision to even come here at all. There’s nothing here for him.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Harrington.”

He freezes, his stomach flipping. _That voice._ Is his mind playing tricks on him? _It can’t be…it just can’t…_

Steve turns to his left, and his heart skips a beat.

“…what…what are you doing here?” Steve can barely get the words out.

“Perhaps I should be asking you the same question.” Billy takes up a seat beside Steve. He frowns. “Hey, what’s up with you, your drink too strong or something? You want me to get you a Shirley Temple?” he laughs, takes out a cigarette and lights it.

Steve can’t stop staring, a lump beginning to form in his throat as he looks back at the other in complete and utter bewilderment.

“Please tell me you’re not really here,” Steve mutters.

Billy grins, exhaling a plume of smoke. “I’m all here, Harrington. And so are you, it seems. Fuck. I’m sorry for you.”

Steve opens his mouth to speak, closes it again. And as the flashing lights from the dance floor change position, ‘I Just Want to Get to Know You’ begins to fill the club, and suddenly Billy is flashing Steve that painfully familiar, mischievous grin.

“You remember this?” Billy asks. “One of the songs from your lame ass mixtape you made me, right?”

Steve manages to hold back the urge to burst into spontaneous tears at the thought of that, fakes a smile instead. “Yeah, I remember.” He cringes at the note of sorrow that still manages to creep into his voice.

Billy shakes his head, takes another drag on his cigarette. “Fuck me, you had some shitty tastes in music.”

They both laugh, and Steve realises he cannot take his eyes off of Billy. He’s spent so long envisioning Billy over the years, trying to piece together in his mind just how it’d felt the first time they’d ever gone on a date. It had been the week before graduation. Billy had turned up at Steve’s house in his Chevy Camaro, nursing a black eye, said something along the lines of _‘Get in Harrington, before I change my mind’,_ and Steve had spent the entire drive believing he’d made a mistake, that Billy Hargrove really _was_ an irredeemable asshole, and _how could he have been so goddamn stupid as to fall for this prick in the first place?_

By the end of that night, Steve realised he was falling in love. Hard.

For the longest time since the two of them had gone their separate ways, Steve had spent hours of each and every day trying to recreate that night in his mind. Steve tried to envision Billy’s clothes, the way his voice sounded, Billy’s bizarrely comforting scent – a mixture of tobacco and denim. But it was the way Billy had looked at him that night that’s the hardest to relive. For years it’d been almost impossible to recreate in Steve’s mind. And now, here Billy is, in the flesh, flashing him that same mischievous smirk, dirty blonde curls skimming across his bright blue eyes. It’s too much to bear. Steve breaks eye contact, his gaze traveling towards the chain against Billy’s exposed chest. _Fuck. How could he have forgotten that damn chain?_ In the two years they’d spent together, Steve had honest to god _never_ seen Billy take that thing off. At least, not voluntarily.

“You never did tell me why you always wore that thing,” Steve motions towards the chain. “I tried to pry it outta you so many times.”

Billy’s expression hardens then, smile fading as he takes a long swig of his drink, slamming the empty glass down and calling the bartender over for another. There’s something of the old Billy Hargrove in him now. The last time Steve saw that look on his face was the last night he’d ever seen him. The night he’d told Billy about Candace.

“What d’ya wanna know, Harrington?” Billy mutters, but there’s something in the new found hostility that falters, if only for a second.

“Well, I guess I’ve just always wanted to know why that thing was so important to you, you know? I mean... shit, when Neil broke the chain off that thing and you turned up at my house in tears…”

“Fuck off, I don’t wanna talk about that guy,” Billy interrupts, taking a swig of his new drink. “The old bastard died over a decade ago.”

“Billy…please…” Steve reaches over, and after a moment’s hesitation, puts his hand over the other man’s. Billy pulls it away.

“You always were soft, Steve.”

Steve blinks, temporarily taken aback by actually being referred to by his first name. He could probably count on one hand the amount of times Billy has actually done this.

“Look, It’s OK,” Steve reassures him. “You don’t have to tell me, alright? I was being clumsy. I guess I just never expected I’d get the chance to…well, you know. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to speak to you like this ever again. And, well, I wish it could be under some other circumstance…”

“The chain was my mom’s,” Billy cuts him off. “She died of cancer when I was fourteen. Now you gonna stop with this mushy shit? Jesus, Harrington, you really know how to ruin a moment.”

Steve is speechless, watching as Billy lowers his head, staring into the bottom of his drink.

“Shit, look, I didn’t mean to…”

“Forget it,” Billy says, eyes still fixed on the bar.

 They sit side by side, neither one speaking to the other for what feels like an eternity. Steve breaks first.

“So, 1987, huh? What made you choose this year?”

Billy snorts, sips his drink. “Late 80’s girls, you know. They’re fucking hot as hell.”

They both know he’s lying.

“And it didn’t have anything to do with…” Steve begins.

“You? Shit, Harrington, why would I come back here for that?” Billy stares at him.

“No, I didn’t mean…I just…”

“You just _what?_ Thought I might wanna torture myself a little? Remind myself of you? Or more importantly, remind myself of the year you got some bitch knocked up and broke it off with me?” He laughs, but the pain is evident in every word.

“Listen, Billy, if I could change things, I…”

“Shoulda, coulda, woulda. Come on, don’t we all wish we could change the things we fucked up? Shit, don’t you think I would go back in time with Max if I could? You know, she’s so fuckin’ _nice_ to me now I’m sick? I can’t take it. I mean, shit, Max was the one who paid for me to be here in San Junipero in the first place. _Because she loves_ me and _wants me_ to _feel comfortable,_ her words. Like, why the fuck should she care after how I treated her all those years?” Billy mutters, shakes his head. Steve is speechless, and for a moment it looks as if Billy is ready to break down entirely, before he resumes his composure almost immediately. “Look, I’m sorry for calling her a bitch. But, you know, Candace was kind of…well, a bitch…”

“We’re still married, Billy. And she’s different now.”

Billy closes his eyes, swallows and nods his head. “Right, yeah. Of course. _Family Man Harrington_. I’d expect nothing less. So, what did you call the kid?”

“Frances. We named her after my grandma.”

“Dumb name.”

“Thanks.”

Billy looks up, smile returning to his face. “Hey, I’m happy for you, Harrington. I really am.”

The track changes to ‘Rebel Yell’ and Billy spins in his seat across to the direction of the music. He downs the rest of his drink and grabs Steve’s hand. “Come on.”

The touch of Billy’s hand is enough for Steve to forget everything as he’s pulled towards the dance floor, and the two of them enter the crowds. Steve is suddenly reminded of Billy’s terrible dancing, and his own distinct lack of it. Billy’s swinging from head banging to pulling him closer and spinning him around violently, the dance ultimately resulting in Billy shoving his tongue down Steve’s throat and pressing him up against the walls of the dance floor.

They leave Tucker’s ten minutes later.

It’s just gone 10:30pm now, and Steve’s eyes are watching the clock on the cab’s dashboard with increasing anxiety. He knows he doesn’t have much longer with Billy. He knows, really, that he’d only gone back to 1987 on a fleeting, self-indulgent whim. Of course he’d hoped to see Billy. Of course he’d hoped the one person he’d loved the most would be there, but for the most part, he’d dreaded the idea his wishes would _actually_ be fulfilled. The fact Billy is here could only mean one thing. He’s dying. Just as Steve is. Visiting Junipero and reliving the past within a virtual reality is a privilege only offered to those nearing the end of their life, and the fact neither of the two had known of each other’s illnesses until now is honestly heart-breaking. _The past thirty years should have been theirs to share together._ And now, this is the closest they’ll ever have to a life together. He looks over at Billy as they speed on towards his apartment, and his heart feels as if it might explode with a combination of sadness and regret.

They reach Steve’s apartment, positioned by the edge of the sea, just as he’d requested. Billy gets out of the cab without speaking a word, and Steve follows. They flick the lights on, and Steve heads to the kitchen to make the two of them a drink. He flips the sound system on. ‘I’ve Been Waiting for a Girl Like You’ is the first song on the playlist, and it takes Billy no more than thirty seconds to undress and throw himself at Steve. They fuck each other right there on the kitchen floor, Billy’s hands running through his hair, biting his earlobe, exploring him as if he were doing so for the very first time. Steve breathes in Billy’s scent, holds on tight to him and tries to take in every sensory detail he can of the man he loves. And somewhere before he reaches climax he takes a sharp intake of breath and whispers _‘I Love You’_ in a way he hasn’t been able to say in thirty years.

Once it’s over, they lay in each other’s arms in Steve’s king-size bed.  The room is illuminated in the glowing moonlight beaming in through the bay window, a wall-to-ceiling view of the sea facing them as they hold each other close.

“Told you I’d always be the best lay you ever had,” Billy grins lazily up at Steve. “You won’t forget me when I’m gone, will you, Harrington?” It’s the last thing Billy says before his eyelids become heavy, and he drifts off to sleep against the other’s chest.

Steve plants a kiss on his forehead, strokes his soft blonde curls. Eventually, he falls asleep listening to the slow, rhythmic beat of Billy’s heart.

 

***

“Happy Birthday, sweetheart.”

Steve wakes up to see his wife and daughter stood over him, a plate of stacked pancakes in his wife’s hands, candle piercing the centre.

“I love you,” he tells her, kisses her. Candace smiles.

Steve knows he shouldn’t have married Candace. It’s not her fault. And he knows she loves him. In some ways, he loves her too. And of course, he loves his daughter. How could he ever explain the truth now? How could he ever explain to her he still longs for Billy Hargrove, the dying relic from his past, _has always_ loved him _._ After all, to Candace, Billy was just some asshole he inexplicably hung out with three decades ago. He was the guy who’d kicked the shit out of him back in ‘84 and, to the outside world, had never once expressed a flicker of care or thought for his wellbeing. He could never expect her to understand. And in many ways, _why the hell should she?_

Candace is frowning now as she places a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Are you OK, honey?”

“Yeah, Dee, I’m fine, don’t worry."

But the crease in her forehead isn’t easing up anytime soon, and Frances looks just as unconvinced.

“Daddy, aren’t you happy? This is the best gift we could have ever asked for. The cancer’s gone, and you’re going to live! A few months back I didn’t even think we’d get the chance to celebrate your birthday with you.”

Steve looks back at the joy on his daughter’s face and smiles.

“I know, Frankie, sweetie. I know. I am happy, trust me. I’m just a little…well, I guess it just hasn’t quite sunk in yet.”

He’d received the news two days ago. And a small, selfish part of him had been disappointed to hear it. The truth is, Steve has been counting down the days until his next visit to San Junipero. And yes, he still has six months left to revisit the Junipero simulator before his contract ends. How did the doctor word it? _‘Weaning you off virtual reality’_.  Weaning him off Billy Hargrove. Perhaps he should be glad he can still meet with Billy again. But how can it be the same now? Five days ago, Steve had been dying, nearing the last few months of his life. But now? Now he’s been given the all clear. He’s defied all odds, he’s beaten the cancer. He’s going to live.

_Billy is dying, and I have a future._

“And once you finish your therapy with the San Junipero facility, we’ll have even more time to spend together,” Frances beams, wraps her arms around him. “We’re going to be a real family again.”

Steve swallows, feels a pang of hurt as he thinks back to last week, about the idea of Billy Hargrove dying, having to finally let him go.

“I know, I can’t wait, sweetie,” Steve whispers as he hugs his daughter. “I can’t wait.”

 

***

Steve returns to Tucker’s the next week. Billy isn’t there. He orders a bourbon and sits alone, waiting. Two and a half hours pass, and Steve is still sat waiting. ‘Irgendwie, Irgendwo, Irgendwann’ fills out of the speakers as Steve nurses his fourth drink, feeling the tears well in his eyes and his throat tightens up. He stares at his watch. There is no sign of Billy.

Steve leaves the club alone and drunk.

The next week, Steve leaves Tucker’s with two hours to spare, and ventures into the Quagmire. It’s the sort of dive Billy would have loved back in 1987, and there’s a vague hope in his mind he’ll bump into him, presumably half-way through solidifying his status as San Junipero’s keg king, or checking himself out in one of the graffiti-laden bathroom stalls.

“You seen a blonde guy, about 21, curly hair, open shirt, bit of an asshole?” Steve asks a heavily tattooed dweller of the Quagmire’s third floor staircase. They shrug. As do the twenty-odd others he asks.

Once again, Steve leaves San Junipero alone and heartbroken.

A month goes by. Then another.

And by the third month, Steve stops searching.

***

It’s Christmas Eve, 2017. Steve collects a couple of last minute gifts for his extended family. He stops by a convenience store on the way home to pick up some groceries and a copy of the evening paper before driving home.

The whole house is decked out with festivity, cheery Christmas music flooding the house as various friends and family members corner Steve at every opportunity to wrap their arms around him and let him know just how _relieved_ they are to know he’ll be here for many, many holidays to come.

Frances plays a video slideshow of her father’s journey to recovery in the lounge, and Steve finally escapes to his office with the evening paper and a bottle of bourbon. His skin is crawling, and he needs a few moments of respite, a few moments away from the constant onslaught of gooey affection and sympathetic stares, a brief escape from the painful mediocrity. He feels selfish. Cruel, almost. But he can’t shake it. The Junipero treatments have come to an end, and not once, since that night six months ago, was he able to really say goodbye to Billy beforehand.

He pours himself a glass of bourbon and flicks on the radio. It’s been tuned to the 80’s station for six months now. OMD’S ‘If You Leave’ blares through the speakers as he opens the paper and flicks through. It takes no less than sixty seconds for Steve’s fear-driven curiosity to overcome him. He opens the obituaries page and skims through, as he does every day.

And that’s when his eyes fall upon the post he’s been dreading ever since his first encounter with Billy at San Junipero.

Steve closes the paper, feels his throat tighten up, the tears welling up in his eyes.

_Don’t cry. Don’t cry, goddamnit, Harrington. What’s wrong with you?_

It’s as if Billy is right there in the room with him, telling him all of this as he ignores his own advice and bursts into quiet tears, hands over his face as he feels his heart writhing in his chest, his stomach twisting, and his body shaking. The music plays on as his mind transports back to the most painful regions of nostalgia his mind is capable of processing.

_He’s gone. He’s really gone._

And all Steve can picture is that mischievous grin on Billy’s face, way back on that night of their first date.  They’d gone down to the local multiplex, watched – in Billy’s words – _some dumbass teen movie,_ which the two of them had ended up loving, Billy becoming especially enamoured with the ‘bad boy’ Judd Nelson character and Steve finding a bizarre affinity with Molly Ringwald’s character.   Afterwards, they’d talked about their lives at the local diner. They’d talked about their families, their hopes, their dreams, desires. They’d talked until closing hours and the staff at the diner eventually kicked them out. And that had been the moment Steve realised he’d never loved anyone as much as he loved Billy Hargrove, whether or not he deserved it, whether or not it made sense…

“Dad?”

Steve snaps out of his nostalgic vortex to see Frances, now stood in the doorway, brows knitted and a look of concern across her face.

“Frankie, sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

Frances says nothing, leaving the doorway and heading towards her father, wrapping her arms around him.

“You’re OK, aren’t you Daddy?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” Steve swallows back a further onslaught of tears as he hugs his daughter. “Everything’s fine.”

***

**_WILLIAM HARGROVE (1966-2017)._ **

**_Beloved brother and son. Billy sadly passed away from a long illness on Saturday 23 rd December 2017. He leaves behind his step-sister Maxine and step-mother Susan._ **


End file.
